


many happy returns

by eg1701



Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: 2k words of sheer fluff, Birthday, Dog Dads Tom and Greg, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Inner Dialogue, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:54:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27647117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eg1701/pseuds/eg1701
Summary: It's Tom's birthday, and in typical fashion, Greg is overthinking it.
Relationships: Greg Hirsch/Tom Wambsgans
Comments: 13
Kudos: 37





	many happy returns

**Author's Note:**

> ok what do we think tom's zodiac sign is? i'm honestly leaning towards aries? but thoughts? I could see virgo or leo too maybe? scorpio?

Greg would be the first one to tell you he was a shitty baker. He had a habit of burning things, forgetting an ingredient, incorrectly measuring things, and getting lost halfway through the recipe. The last marginally successful meal had been a batch of cookies several summers ago which his mother had deemed “edible.”

But he had decided several days ago that he was going to bake a birthday cake. 

He wasn’t sure _why_ exactly, except that Tom had offhandedly mentioned that it had been several years since he’d _done_ anything for his birthday, and then told Greg he better not get him anything or else. He supposed Tom was just one of those people who didn’t like to acknowledge the fact that it was their birthday or whatever. 

Tom would be gone all morning, running errands. Greg had offered to go instead, to let Tom take his fucking _birthday_ off but Tom had shooed him away and insisted he was going. 

Greg was determined not to fuck this up. He’d called Tom’s mother, who had handed over Tom’s favorite cake recipe from childhood eagerly, Greg had bought fresh ingredients, and watched several YouTube videos of people baking, just to try and figure out what he was apparently doing wrong.

It was sort of weird, Greg thought, while he carefully reread the emailed recipe (she had included several photos of little Tom on various childhood birthdays, as well as several hearts), to be where they were. A year ago Greg could not have foreseen himself standing in the kitchen before it was even noon, trying to make a birthday cake for his boss, who he’d somehow fallen in love with along the way.

He hoped Tom would like it. If he didn’t, he hoped Tom would at least _pretend_ to like it. It was possible that this whole thing would go terribly wrong, and Tom would hate every single moment of it, but Greg thought it would make him a shitty person if he didn’t _try_ to give Tom a nice birthday.

He double checked all the ingredients, lining them up on the cabinet. The oven was preheating, and Greg took each direction one at a time. He definitely had everything right, and while there was still time to fuck up, so far so good. Mondale came into the kitchen, but decided Greg was not going to give him any food, and meandered into the living room, jumping up onto the sofa. Tom tried to keep the dog from getting onto the furniture, but Greg was pretty sure Mondale knew that was never going to work.

It had taken Greg several weeks to pick out a present for Tom, despite Tom explicitly telling him that he didn’t want anything. They were still learning about each other, that was true, and maybe Tom really was one of those people who literally didn’t care if you got them anything, but on the chance that he was just saying that to say it, Greg wanted to be prepared. 

But now the gifts (all three of them) were wrapped-- not by Greg of course, but by the people in stores who were much better at that sort of thing, and Greg wasn’t giving Tom any ammunition to make fun of his shitty wrapping ability.

The problem with Tom was that Greg wasn’t sure where the persona he put on ended and where Tom really began. Greg had begun to chip away, that was true. He’d begun to find out the real things, not just Tom’s official personality, the one everybody was allowed to see. 

For example, he’d found out Tom had a love of horror movies, something he’d never have told anybody. Greg was pretty sure Tom was _embarrassed_ that he had interests outside of business and finance. He wanted to think it was weird, but honestly, Greg understood it. The Roys lived in a cutthroat world. Maybe it was safer to bury the real parts of yourself under layers of pretend, to keep them warm and protected. But things like his ability to figure out which Friday the Thirteenth movie was in under five minutes, or that he had read all of Jane Austen’s books in college or his fondness for peanut butter cookies, or his very intense takes on which subway line was the best, despite the fact that Greg was pretty sure he’d never even _taken_ the subway before. 

That had made buying gifts hard. He didn’t want to buy Tom something boring and impersonal. He wanted to show Tom that he listened, that he knew the things he liked, the things he would want without having to be told. 

(Greg hoped he’d done well. He thought he’d be able to tell if Tom didn’t like them, and he was pretty sure it would be a blow.)

The cake went in the oven, and Greg set the timer. There were still a good two hours before Tom would even be headed home, and Greg began the immense clean up of the kitchen. He’d been so focused on getting all his measurements right-- Tom’s mother had put them in both metric and standard-- that he’d hardly paid attention to the mess he was making. 

Gift shopping began three weeks ago. First, he bought Tom a very nice, and very _expensive_ bottle of wine. That was easy. Plus, Greg knew that it was likely Tom would share with him. The others had been harder. It wasn’t like he had very many friends he could ask, and it wasn’t like he could call up Shiv and ask what she thought Tom might like as a birthday present. He had even consulted Mondale, who had cocked his head, and then tried to steal the remains of Greg’s breakfast from his plate instead. 

Instead he’d relied on salespeople who knew very little about Tom and very little about why they weren’t exactly a regular run of the mill couple. Tom liked to joke about Greg’s expensive taste, but Greg was pretty sure Tom’s taste was much finer than his. 

(He bent down to peek at the cake. It wasn’t burnt, wasn’t popping out of it’s pan, and looked only slightly lopsided. He figured all was alright so far.)

It had been so damn difficult. He didn’t know what you were supposed to get your boss turned hookup turned _boyfriend_ who was divorcing your cousin to live with you, who was one of the most complicated people you had ever met. 

In the end-- the internet had been less than helpful as well-- Greg had settled on two more things. The first was by recommendation of the woman at the bookstore and detailed the National Parks across the country. Tom frequently told Greg that he was _not_ an outdoor person, but Greg was pretty sure that was part of the persona, and he was pretty sure that if Greg planned a trip to Yosemite or something, Tom would have a hell of a time. 

The second gift he’d come across accidentally while out buying groceries. But he’d popped into one of the stores uptown, and decided on a whim to buy the scarf mostly because it looked like one in the photos he’d seen when they went to Tom’s parents house, one that his grandfather had been wearing. Greg knew it wasn’t the same one of course, but the color scheme was so similar, and Tom spoke so highly of his grandfather it felt almost meant to be. 

So he’d had everything wrapped up, wrote a nice note on a birthday card, and waited for Tom to leave.

The cake came out of the oven, and Greg only slightly burned his hands doing so. His own mother had reminded him three times to let the cake cool before he frosted it, so he set it down on the back of the stove, and started in on the frosting recipe, figuring that would take some time. 

Tom texted, informing him that he was still at the pet store, which still meant Greg had plenty of time, since the store was well pretty far uptown. It gave the cake time to cool, and Greg time to finish his coffee.

***

He heard the door open and shut, and heard Mondale jump off the sofa. Greg was impressed with his ability to get everything done before Tom got home. The cake was cooled and frosted, and ready to be eaten. 

“There’s my favorite boy,” he heard Tom say, followed by the sound of a chew toy squeaking, which meant that Tom had caved and bought Mondale another toy, even though he said he wouldn’t, “Smells good in here doesn’t it Mondale?”

Greg chuckled to himself. This was another part of Tom that definitely was real, and not part of his outside persona. He sure did love that dog.

“What are you making?” Tom asked, following Mondale into the kitchen, “Smells like chocolate.”

“I made you a birthday cake.”

Tom frowned, “And didn’t have to call the fire department?”

“Yeah right. See?”

Tom raised his eyebrows, and examined the cake and presents on the table, “That’s for me?”

“Well like, it is your birthday.”

“What kind of cake is it?”

“Chocolate. I uh, like, asked your mom what your favorite cake was cause I thought you might yell at me if I asked you and she sent me like, her recipe I guess?”

“My mother sent you her chocolate cake recipe?”

“Uh. Yes?”

“I have never seen her give it to anyone. It’s a family secret. She wouldn’t even give it to the minister’s wife at church.”

“Yeah like she emailed it to me and everything.”

“And those are for me to?” Tom pointed at the packages on the table. 

“Yes. You can open them if you want to. The cake is cooled off. I bought a bunch of those like, Conjuring movies that we can watch, and also I made dinner reservations at eight.”

“You’ve been a busy boy haven’t you.”

Greg smiled. So far so good was right. He pulled two plates down, and collected forks, offering them to Tom.

“No no,” Tom shook his head, “This is the kind of cake you just go for. Sit and eat with me.”

“You have to blow out a candle first,” Greg said suddenly. He knew he’d forgotten something, and after a frantic search around the kitchen he found a mostly melted taper candle he lit with his lighter, “That’s the, like, law.”

Tom rolled his eyes, but complied, and blew out the candle in front of him before pulling the cake over. He looked it over, “Looks good Greg.”

He watched Tom take a bite, and when he didn’t spit it out, he let out a sigh of relief. 

“Doesn’t taste like shit either. It’s good. Try it.”

Greg had to agree. It didn’t taste like shit. In fact, it was pretty good. He’d have to tell Tom’s mother it was a success. And then thank her a hundred times.

“Where’d you make reservations?” Tom asked. 

“Oh, that place in Midtown. The Italian one you wanted to go to?”

Tom frowned, “How the fuck did you get reservations _there?_ ”

“I made them like six months ago honestly. I was just going to give it to you for your birthday anyway, like, you and Shiv I guess but like, obviously things are different now so I guessed that we should go instead.”

“You were going to just give Shiv the reservations with no context?”

“I would have figured it out.”

Tom smiled, “Come here.”

Greg leaned forward, and Tom kissed him, one hand settling on the back of his neck. He tasted like chocolate cake, and Greg wondered, briefly, if they could do nothing but this all day.

(It probably wouldn’t be fair to the people waiting to get a reservation at that restaurant though.)

“Thank you,” Tom said when they pulled apart. He brushed his thumb across Greg’s cheek with a smile, “I didn’t expect anything.”

“Like, it’s your birthday man.” 

“Still. Thank you.”

There was a lot that Greg wanted to say. He wanted to tell Tom that he deserved nice things, he deserved to be happy and that Greg _wanted_ to make him happy. That even though they’d both done shitty things in the past, that he believed they could be good now. He wanted to tell Tom that he loved him so much that it scared the hell out of him, and that he wasn’t sure exactly what he’d do without Tom, now that he had him. 

But instead he only smiled, “Open your presents.”

“Don’t rush me dickhead. I’m eating my birthday cake.”

"Happy Birthday."

Tom smiled, "Thanks Greg."

"You're even more older than me now," Greg said.

"Oh fuck off," Tom said, but he was laughing, "You have to be nice to me on my birthday."

"I'm always nice," Greg said, "I'm nicer than _you._ "

"That's not that hard though," Tom replied, taking another bite of cake, "I'm an asshole."

"Yeah but I still love you."

"What's that say about your taste?" Tom smiled, "I love you too."

Greg was pretty certain another little bit of Tom's pretend personality was falling away before his eyes. Maybe by his next year it'd be all gone.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks as always!


End file.
